An Unexpected Brother

There is a man who works at a location I drive past most days. I often stop in for some essentials. He has a name on his work badge but I am not going to write it here. 

I have not had the opportunity to ask for his approval, nor have I earned the right to assume. He shakes my hand every time. We have started calling each other brother. I love it.

A while back I started carrying these little pop-open cards with hand-written notes on the back, to hand to people on my way through the day. Perhaps from a selfish angle. It makes me feel good. 

The first time I left one for him. I really hoped the other employee would remember to give it to him. Shout out to that employee. He did.

This morning I visited and got to see him. After we both said our "Hello my brother, great to see you!" he instantly mentioned the card. I had written a small note appreciating his kindness every time I see him. At the end of the note, I mentioned I enjoy talking about his father's music and popularity back in Bangladesh. I did not think too much of it at the time.

I did learn from him previously that his father was an extremely talented musician. That his music is still beloved in Bangladesh today. I've always admired the pride in his eyes for his father.

The father is gone. The son is still behind the counter. I learned he is observing Eid al-Adha. 

Then, he helped me understand why that line at the end of the note, the one I did not think too much of in the moment, held so much meaning.

He told me Eid al-Adha is an Islamic holiday. One I had only heard of in passing. By the look in his eyes and voice, I could tell he was carrying the day more as a heavy honoring than a celebration.

I had a bracelet in my pocket. I had not planned to bring it for him specifically. I like to carry these types of things with me. Why? Well... I'm not 100% sure. That's probably a question for someone more qualified than yours truly.

This one had a kind of dawn-light energy to it. I asked him if he considered himself a morning person. He replied yes, very much so (which I am only a tad jealous of, as my brain seems to need to be smacked upside the head in the early morning). 

I asked if I could give him the bracelet. He said yes again.

These brief minutes across his counter have taught me things I will not forget. The shape of a music scene I had not known existed. The gift of learning about his background, upbringing, and culture.

The way a son carries a famous parent without making it known. 

The look on a man's face when the holiday in front of him is mostly remembering.

The word brother, said so sincerely, from the mouth of someone who was not a blood brother. He gave me that gift anyway.

We talked for another minute. We shook hands. We called each other brother.

He put the bracelet in his pocket. Today was for his father.

Thank you, brother. Thank you for all the gifts you have unknowingly given me,

--Drew 🪷